


freedom tastes sweetest in the warmth of the sun

by ghostnebula (gghostnebula)



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: College Age Losers, Consensual Non-Monogamy, Fluff, Implied Voyeurism, Kissing, M/M, Multi, Open Relationships, Surprise Kissing, bust a nut in your heart for kasplon, implied nsfw, they start uni soon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:29:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28584270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gghostnebula/pseuds/ghostnebula
Summary: Here, in this cramped little trailer on the outskirts of Bangor, he decided he was going to keep doing whatever made him feel happy, for the rest of his life. Not what his mom wanted. Not what God wanted. Not whatever the “safe” choice was. He was going to do the things that made him feel all warm between his ribs, because Richie told him he could.Eddie leans over into Mike’s space and kisses him.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Mike Hanlon & Eddie Kaspbrak, Mike Hanlon/Eddie Kaspbrak
Comments: 17
Kudos: 68





	freedom tastes sweetest in the warmth of the sun

**Author's Note:**

> lord have mercy i am so fucking high i can't believe i finished this. if it makes no sense i apologize.
> 
> so [tonyofthetrees](https://tonyofthetrees.tumblr.com/) over on tumblr made an [adorable lil kasplon artwork](https://tonyofthetrees.tumblr.com/post/639269630890901504/adding-to-my-trailer-park-losers-club-headspace) and I have quite literally not stopped thinking about since the moment it was posted. which means I ended up writing about it, because kasplon is so close to my heart and I always want to write about them.
> 
> it's a tiny bit horny.

* * *

Eddie presses a lukewarm water bottle into Mike’s hands before flopping onto the unmade bed. For once he can’t bring himself to give a fuck that he’s a muddy, sweaty disaster, and the sheets are going to be stained to hell if he lies down. 

Maybe Richie’s lack of care for cleanliness is rubbing off on him more the longer they live together.

Maybe he’s just exhausted and sunburnt and overheating. There’s no A/C here, after all, just the warm breeze through the open window and a clunky old pedestal fan that’s losing the battle with the oppressive heat of the day.

And the bed is just too comfortable. If he closes his eyes, he might drop off to sleep in an instant.

But instead he cracks the cap off the water bottle, strains to lift his head (sitting up properly would simply take too much effort), and sucks back half the damn thing in one go.

“That was _fucking awesome,_ Mike,” he says breathlessly when he’s done, rolling onto his stomach to set the water bottle on the little folding table they’ve been using as a nightstand. The transistor radio is still on, and _Romeo’s Tune_ crackles unevenly through the working speaker. “How come you’ve never told me you could drive an ATV so well?”

The shitty old mattress creaks and groans as Mike settles onto it. “It’s just never come up, I guess. I mean, how many places can you rent quad bikes in Derry?” He laughs to himself a little, and Eddie turns from where he was staring out at the lush, sunny yard that slopes down into the fields, chin on his hand, to stare at him.

“Yeah,” he says, smiling when their eyes meet. “I guess that’s understandable. You think Richie will wanna try, when he gets back?”

“Do you think he _wouldn’t?”_ Mike asks, and he’s got such a warm look in his eye even through all that exhaustion from a long afternoon, Eddie feels like taffy is melting in his chest. 

Mike shifts to lie down beside him, also on his stomach, to look out the window and into the world bright with dandelions and clover and chicory, and he thinks maybe it’ll start melting right through his skin if he doesn’t figure out how to control it. 

Because Mike is beautiful, and he’s strong, and he’s _cool._ Cooler than Eddie ever thought one person could be. He’s the kind of person all the other boys at their high school were agonizingly jealous of. They all wanted to be him. They all wanted to befriend him, and not just for his inimitable good looks.

He’s about as charming as they come. 

It’s no wonder Eddie swoons every time Mike looks at him with gentle eyes or speaks to him kindly or-- or offers to take him off-roading, in the mess of mud left behind by the massive rainstorm that swept through yesterday.

He can hardly be blamed when it’s like Mike Hanlon was _designed_ to be impossible to resist.

He’d probably try harder, if he was still the meek, obedient creature his mother channeled so much energy into creating. But he isn’t anymore, because he’s tasted freedom and he wouldn’t ever dare go back. Freedom from his mother, freedom from Derry, freedom from the fears they instilled in him. Freedom from the careful repression of the things that felt most right about himself even when everything around him screamed that they were _wrong._

Here, in this cramped little trailer on the outskirts of Bangor, he decided he was going to keep doing whatever made him feel happy, for the rest of his life. Not what his mom wanted. Not what God wanted. Not whatever the “safe” choice was. He was going to do the things that made him feel all warm between his ribs, because Richie told him he could.

Because he came out here even when his mother said he couldn’t, that she’d never let him go. Because he applied for college in LA even though she said he had to stay in Derry with her. Because he got in even when he worried and worried that he wouldn’t until his stomach was knots upon knots and he couldn’t help wondering if he’d be stuck in that shithole town forever, waiting to die. 

Even though he’s not nearly as far away from it all as he’ll be in a few short weeks -- when they’ll all drive down to LA together to their rented house and become independent, responsible adults -- _this_ little sample of being a free and individual human being has been euphoric.

And because Richie had said it would be okay, that it would always be okay if it was with another Loser (Eddie had told him the same, and he’d meant it, because he trusts no one on this Earth more than he trusts the Losers), Eddie leans over into Mike’s space and kisses him. 

It’s clumsy, their noses bending at awkward angles and their teeth clacking together when Eddie dives in with a little too much zeal. They’re pressed so close together, with Eddie’s leg hooked tentatively over Mike’s, that it’s a strain on his neck to even press their lips together in the first place, but damned if Eddie isn’t going to seize the opportunity to do something that’ll make him fucking _happy._

He can feel his heartbeat in his throat when he pulls back from the quick kiss, leaning back a little to process the fact that, _holy fuck, he just did that._

Mike looks like someone has struck the fear of God in him, and Eddie realizes too late that maybe he should’ve asked first, and that pursuing his own happiness doesn’t mean taking advantage of other people, _duh._

“Oh fuck,” he hisses, hand flying up to cover his mouth. “Oh fuck I’m so sorry.” He twists around to sit up, like he can escape the fact that he just kissed Mike entirely unprompted and without permission when this is _his fucking trailer_ (well, his and Richie’s, but semantics). There’s nowhere for him to go, because it’s the size of a shoebox and he can’t just abandon his guest here alone. 

He’s already a bad enough friend for seizing the opportunity in the absolute wrongest way, because he’s a moron, obviously. He’s not gonna add “shitty host” to his list of misdemeanours.

“It’s alright,” Mike says, a little stiff. He sits up, too, and Eddie looks away in shame. “I’m not mad. I swear. I’m just… concerned. What about Richie?”

Mike’s fingers brush over his cheek, soft and encouraging, and Eddie draws together the will to look up at him again. “He said it’s fine. We both did. With… with you guys.”

The remnant traces of fear fade out of Mike’s eyes, with the knowledge he isn’t ruining any relationships, and Eddie feels infinitely less guilty in the wake of that understanding. “Well, then, if it’s alright with you, I’d like to kiss you again. Properly.”

That gooey-taffy feeling explodes in Eddie’s chest again, squeezing at his heart and lungs. “I-- _Yeah._ Yes, please.” He licks his lips, and he’s not sure whether it’s nerves or anticipation that make him nod so frantically that Mike has to hold his jaw in both hands to keep him still, but then Mike’s kissing him and that doesn’t matter. 

There’s this sublime little thrill down his spine when Mike’s tongue presses behind his teeth, just like the first time he ever kissed Richie like this. It crackles through his nerves until his bones feel like they’re made of helium, and he reaches up to pull Mike closer, to get more of that feeling.

Mike’s on top of him in an instant, pushing him down against the poor, filthy mattress again, smearing mud from their clothes onto the bedding. He slips a hand down to cup the back of Eddie’s head and tangle it in the mess of overgrown hair. 

There’s a flood of warmth through his whole abdomen. His fingers sink into drying, flaking mud when he twists the fabric of Mike’s sweat-soaked t-shirt in his hand, and he can’t remember the last time he felt so exhilarated. Not even running away from home could induce this kind of emotion in him. It thrums through him all the way to the tips of his fingers and drags a small, disappointed sound from him when Mike pulls away.

“Is this okay?” he asks through spit-slicked lips, gazing down at him all hopeful and hesitant and Eddie could really just fucking melt right here, like this. 

“Yeah. Of course it is, Mike.” His breathing still hasn’t quite calmed down, and he’s sure he looks and sounds like as much of a disaster as he feels. What a contrast that must be to Mike’s inexhaustible radiance. 

Still, he tugs at Mike’s collar until he gives in and leans down to kiss him more, because he isn’t going to let his own self-consciousness (or maybe just envy) prevent his pursuit of happiness. And fuck if Mike kissing him all gentle and mellow like this doesn’t make him _more_ than happy.

He’s hyper-aware of Mike’s touch. Of the way his thumb brushes softly over the back of his neck, tracing over his hairline. Of the pressure of his blunt fingernails on his scalp while he holds Eddie’s head in place. Of the hand that closes around the top of his thigh when he lets his legs fall open so Mike can settle between them, gripping tight at the exposed skin where the hem of his shorts has ridden up. The warmth and weight of Mike’s chest against his. The uneven tempo of their breathing. The disarming pressure when Mike’s hips slide into place against his and their-- their--

The shitty broken screen door squeals open. There’s the rustle of plastic bags as Richie hauls in the load of groceries Eddie asked him to pick up on his way home from helping Wentworth paint the Toziers’ garage. 

Mike’s body disconnects from his abruptly, and Eddie groans to express his discontent. He props himself up on his elbows to watch Richie wander in, humming along to the broken radio.

He catches sight of the two of them sprawled on the bed and raises an eyebrow. 

“I’m so sorry,” Mike says with potent sincerity, even though Eddie _just_ fucking told him it was fine. He’s far too nice and far too honest. It’s almost unfair. 

“Mike, it’s alright--” he tries to say, but Richie’s already wolf-whistling and digging into the fridge for one of the beers Bill stole from his dad and gave them as a housewarming (trailer-warming) gift. The groceries are forgotten on the floor.

“Oh, please don’t let me interrupt,” he says, pulling a chair out from the petite dining table and turning it to face them. “Eds has six free passes, Mikey. Go nuts.” He winks at Mike as he cracks the can open and Mike makes a sound like a dying whale, which nudges quiet laughter out of Eddie. “Only if you’re cool with it, obviously,” Richie adds, already leaning back in the rickety chair and crossing his legs, excitement gleaming in his eyes and shining in the grin taking up half his face. Eddie knows him well enough to see he fully intends to enjoy whatever show Mike is willing to put on for him, and that warmth floods back through his gut at suddenly unbearable temperatures.

Mike barely hesitates after that. He’s rounding on Eddie again, and Eddie grabs him by the back of the neck to drag him down on top of him, rocking his hips up to meet Mike’s, and he doesn’t think freedom has ever tasted quite this good.

* * *


End file.
